


dead man walking

by youngshramles



Category: Naruto
Genre: Father-Daughter Relationship, Gen, Konohagakure | Hidden Leaf Village, Protective Uchiha Madara, Uchiha Madara Needs a Hug
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-17
Updated: 2021-03-24
Packaged: 2021-03-25 21:34:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 11,190
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30095457
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/youngshramles/pseuds/youngshramles
Summary: “Do you think anyone is going to come for us?” she asks after what is probably a few minutes, but feels longer than that.“I don’t know. Hashirama, that idiot, would definitely send someone or come himself. But it might take a while to confirm we’re not dead.”“Hikaku must be having a blast.” she mutters. Should Clan Head and Heir be incapacitated, all responsibilities fall to Hikaku, third in line. Speaking from first-hand experience, those duties were not fun.Madara lets out a particularly harsh exhale that could be counted as a laugh.///Father and daughter get captured and then attempt breaking out, as you do.
Relationships: Uchiha Madara & Original Character(s)
Comments: 7
Kudos: 10
Collections: tobirama's archives





	1. Chapter 1

She’s hoisted up between two people, men from the feel of their arms against hers. She tries to walk of her own accord but whatever poison they had injected her with made her knees weak and legs give out.

Because of this, they resorted to dragging her between them and she could not remember feeling so humiliated, but maybe that was because she could not think properly. Her thoughts were all jumbled up and she had to concentrate hard enough to make her head hurt in order to think even somewhat coherently.

She was hopeful that someone would be sent after her, but was not so naive as to count on it. She may be the daughter of Madara himself, but Konoha was still at war and needed all the able-bodied and able-minded shinobi she could get. Not to mention that whoever was strong enough, brave enough to capture Uchiha Achiko and imprison her would definitely require much more than an average squad of shinobi to be dealt with. 

If they were the same men that she had fought, then putting it into Shikari’s words, it would indeed be troublesome. 

Best case scenario, Achiko catches them unaware and massacres all of them, to escape on her own. She’s already gleefully planning the death of the one that had hit her in the back with that Katon Jutsu. That had hurt like a motherfucker, but it appeared that they had at least done first aid. It no longer pulsed in near-agony, but instead throbbed dully with her heartbeat. 

That could be a good sign, that they had healed her. It meant that maybe they were planning to let her go. The other possibility was… not so good and the most probable. Healing a prisoner only meant that you wanted information out of them, which would likely be extracted through torture. They would keep her on the brink, alive enough to be coherent and feel the pain being inflicted upon her, but dead enough to not be a threat. 

The usage of medical jutsu also allowed for more… intense techniques to be used, the fear of a premature death somewhat voided. 

She shivers, trying to not think about what lay in store for her, and focuses resolutely on being aware of her surroundings, searching for any information to help her stage her escape. She would escape, if not for herself, then for her father. 

The news of her death would undoubtedly break him. She was the only family he had left, and he did not react well to his family being taken from him. The rumours of what Madara was like after Uncle Izuna’s death were so different from the kind father that she knew, but wholly plausible, even likely. 

When Achiko had been kidnapped at the age of 7, Madara had come to get her. She remembers being tied up in the middle of the enemy camp, laying on her side in the dirt. They had struck her for her repeated struggles and attempts to attack them, so she was sporting a broken shoulder and a black eye. 

She had been in the middle of trying to find a rock that was somewhat sharp, a task made difficult by her hands bound behind her back, when she heard a scream. Another one joined it, and soon the air was filled with fire and cut-off cries. It had been over within seconds. 

Footsteps approached, and she had rolled over with tears shining in her eyes, expecting to see her father looking back at her. 

It had indeed been her father, staring at her with wide eyes and shaking hands….but it also hadn’t been. He was covered in blood, that wasn’t unusual for a shinobi, but he was also covered in… guts and gore. She had looked behind him to see the men that had kidnapped her absolutely mauled. Most of them were in pieces, with charred flesh and bloody bones strewn about the impromptu-battleground. 

To be honest, it had scared her to see him like this…full of rage and fear. 

Madara had kneeled and made quick work of her restraints, gently untying her mouth gag, his eyes widening as he took in her black eye and bruised cheek. She was about to tell him that it was okay, that she’d had worse, and that she was sorry she couldn’t have escaped on her own, but what came out was a pained whimper when he gripped her broken shoulder.

Realization flitted across his eyes, followed by that fiery anger at the same time Achiko noticed a shinobi balanced on a branch behind her father. She recognized him as the one who had left to patrol the perimeter. Fat load of good that did his teammates. 

Madara had obviously sensed him as well and attacked the man almost too fast to follow. He had hit with barely suppressed rage fueling his actions. The man was brutally dismembered, and she recalled wondering why Madara didn’t finish it already and if she should go help, despite knowing that she would just get in the way and that he most definitely could handle this on his own. After Madara had burned him to a near-crisp but still continued attacking him, she realized that her father was prolonging his pain. It was obvious he wanted to make him suffer and would not grant the mercy of death so easily. She watched in half horror and half awe as her father continued to torment the man, finally ending it by crushing his heart between his bare fingers.

Afterwards he had come to her, and held her ever so gently in his arms despite her protests that she could run just fine, ignoring the fact that she was weak from being starved and dehydrated. She fell unconscious a few minutes into the run back home to Konoha. 

She woke up in the hospital to her father’s worried face, but when they made eye contact, he smiled and it was the same kind smile she had known since birth. It almost made her forget about the other side of him, the side that almost everyone else saw.

As she grew older, she noticed the barely hidden glares and whispers of mistrust that followed him. Her father always acted like they didn’t affect them, but she knew her father well and would notice how he tensed at thinly veiled insults and baleful looks. It made him uncomfortable and unmotivated, she knew. After that, she had taken to going out with her father once a week, doing such domestic things, it was a wonder he agreed in the first place. The first time they went to a mochi store and tried all of the flavors in it. Unknownnst to them, some of them had alcohol in them which ended up with the Uchiha Clan Head and Heir ending up drunk in the Civilian Shopping District, challenging each other to silly competitions and duels. Needless to say, it did not end well for the city infrastructure.

Tobirama had been furious.

Uchiha Madara was fair and kind, but certain circumstances had led him to be bitter and resentful towards the shinobi world which rewarded murderers, thieves and liars. Her father was a man who cared deeply for his family and would do anything for them. She knew her father well, knew his dreams almost as intimately as her own. He wished for peace, to live in a world where his children would not have to grow up fighting for their life in a pointless war. Madara had been open to alliance with the Seju to achieve his goals, if that was what it took, and how lucky (or unlucky) it was that their Clan Leader shared his dream too.

Achiko was shaken out of her introspective thoughts as she was thrown into a cell, different from the one she woke up in. It was still dark and cold, with stone surrounding all sides of it except for the one with thick iron bars, undoubtedly sealed so that they were unbreakable with normal or even chakra-enhanced means. 

With all the chakra repressing seals on her, she couldn’t even hope to try and break them down.

It took her an embarrassingly long amount of time to realize that there was someone else in the cell with her, but she chose to blame it on lack of chakra sensing and the poison slowing her thoughts down. Achiko drew back, placing herself in the corner of the cell so she at least knew where they wouldn't be coming from. 

There wasn’t much else she could do. She’d have to purely rely on taijutsu if her companion turned out to be hostile, and the space was too small to provide any type of advantage in a fight.

“Who’s there?” she ground out, seeing a flicker of motion in the shrouded darkness of the opposite corner. 

“Achiko?” a baritone voice asks. 

Achiko smiles. She would know that voice anywhere. 

“Otou-san.” 

Madara emerged from the darkness a little dramatically. He looked to be generally unharmed, if a little worse for wear, his clothes rumpled and armor taken away. Madara looked like a true warrior with his armor on, someone untouchable ready to cut enemies down. His untameable hair coupled with his red eyes and borderline manic expressions always put him a step above everyone else, his power on par with those like Hashirama, who had earned his nickname of “God of Shinobi”. Without his armor he was a strong looking man, but a man nonetheless. 

“How the hell did you get caught too?” Achiko complains, slouching down against the wall. She could blame it on being relieved she wouldn’t have to fight her cellmate, but it was more because of how dizzy she was feeling. 

Father was here. They could stage an escape between the two of them no problem. It was worrying that he had even been captured in the first place, but Achiko chose to ignore that and focus on the positive.

“Shut up, brat,” Madara says, but there's no bite to it. He seems a little glum if anything. “Injuries?” 

“Few scrapes and bruises. I got hit with a really intense Katon, which is what took me out.” Achiko grouses. 

Madara looks like he doesn’t know whether to laugh or be concerned. 

Achiko plows on. 

“Also… Don’t freak out but I’m pretty sure they poisoned me too,” she says, sliding down to sit on the ground. Her headache feels like it's getting worse by the minute, steadily approaching the category of a solid migraine. She tips her head back against the cool wall and glances at Madara, who seems to have paled a few shades. 

“Symptoms?” he grits out, clenching his hands, walking towards her.

“ It’s hard to move my body. Loss of control, I guess.” she says, trying to be as medically professional as she can because that was more helpful than just saying everything hurts. That’s what Kagami had said Tobirama had taught them and Achiko was inclined to agree because it made sense. But right now it was hard to recall any type of medical terminology with how her head was pounding.

“Um, uneven breathing… And--” she curses as a particularly sharp stab of pain lances through her head. 

Madara crouches down in front of her, raising two fingers to the pulse point at her neck, lips pressed into a thin line. 

“Elevated heart rate,” he mutters, drawing back and resting a hand on her knee, looking to be in thought. “Anything else?”

“And my head, father. It- it hurts so much,” she confesses, crossing her arms, and to her horror feeling tears well up in her eyes. Fuck. She was 17 years old, daughter of Uchiha Madara, Heir to the Uchiha clan, ranked a Jounin, and she would not cry because of a mere headache, dammit. 

How could she lead the strong and fearsome Uchiha if she could not even hold her own against her own body? How can she replace her father, when she is nowhere close to the great man he is? 

She is torn out of the beginnings of her inner tirade by a gloved hand smoothing down her hair. 

“It’ll be okay. You’re strong.” Madara says solemnly. 

Achiko wants to ask him how he knows, but that is almost more childish than crying about a headache, so she wipes her tears away and nods firmly.

“Did you see what they gave you?” he asks, moving to sit besides her. 

Achiko shakes her head, and then winces. Dammit.

“What’s the verdict?” she asks. Madara was not a poison specialist by any means, but he had a fair amount of knowledge about the topic. All elite shinobi did. 

Madara makes a face. “No idea. I’m not even sure if it’s fatal or not.” he admits, his voice doing something funny on the word ‘fatal’. 

“Doubtful.” She finds herself saying. “They healed my back, so they obviously want to keep me alive. For something unpleasant probably.”

There’s silence.

“Do you think anyone is going to come for us?” she asks after what is probably a few minutes, but feels longer than that.

“I don’t know. Hashirama, that idiot, would definitely send someone or come himself. But it might take a while to confirm we’re not dead.”

“Hikaku must be having a blast.” she mutters. Should Clan Head and Heir be incapitated, all responsibilities fall to Hikaku, third in line. Speaking from first-hand experience, those duties were not fun.

Madara lets out a particularly harsh exhale that could be counted as a laugh.

“Either Hashirama or Tobirama will be coming,” Madara continues, stretching out his legs. “For someone to have taken both you and me captive…” he trails off, staring at his lap. 

Achiko sits up, a question coming into her head that she hadn’t thought to ask for, being too relieved at seeing her father here and unharmed.

“How did you get done in anyways?”

Madara scowls. 

“Those bastards got me when I was coming back from a solo mission in Iwa. You know how fucking hard it is to get in and out of their command post without getting caught? I can’t believe Tobirama thought it was best to send me, he knows I can’t do all that sneaky shit that he does. Fucking unbelievable.” he rants.

If anything can cause Madara to get this mad, it’s Tobirama. It’s almost comical. And Madara had a point, he really was terrible at masking his chakra signature or anything related to being quiet. He was much too hot headed for that, preferring to have all the attention on him.

“White Demon, my ass,” Madara mutters. “It’s his fault I’m here.”

“Look on the bright side. At least we get to have father-daughter bonding time. Here. In this cold ass cell.” Achiko tries for a joking tone, but it just comes out as flat and slightly strained.

“You’re cold?” Madara’s head snaps towards her, already shrugging off his long-sleeve. 

Masasko’s eyes widen. “Father- no, I’m- it’s fine,” she starts, but it’s too late. He’s already thrown it at her face.

She pulls it off her face and glances warily at him. “Aren’t you gonna be cold then?” 

Madara, who is left in just a mesh undershirt, scoffs. 

Her father is an idiot. Achiko knows he’s going to be cold, and it’s better if he stays in top condition rather than her, because he is the better fighter anyways, and she is impaired already by the poison coursing through her veins. Even without it, she is nowhere near his level.

She says as much out loud. 

Madara’s face does a strange thing. “You are the one suffering from sickness, daughter, not me.” 

“If we want to even have a chance of escaping, you should stay at your best,” she responds fiercely, clutching the shirt.

Madara shakes his head slowly, like he does when he’s getting particularly upset about something and is trying to calm down. “I will be fine. I just need to rest.”

“Then rest with your goddamn shirt on! It’s freezing in here and you’ll need it!” she doesn’t shout but it’s a near thing.

Madara hates people raising their voices at him, and he always shouts right back. Nothing compares to how terrifying it is when her father yells. To others it is the booming voice, rank second to only the Hokage, and the knowledge that he could crush them like an ant if he wills it. They fear what he might do to them. To her, it’s just her father yelling at her, and she knows he would never hurt her, but the disappointment and anger is a punishment of its own. 

Madara tenses, and glares at her. 

“Why won’t you just take the damn shirt, you-” he cuts off, staring at her. “Why are you shivering?” 

Belatedly, Achiko realises that she is indeed shivering, her teeth softly clacking together, and her body spasming every once in a while. 

“I told you, it’s cold.” she grinds out. It is so cold, and her father is surely going to catch some type of sickness. She doesn’t understand why he won’t put it back on and she doesn’t think can argue with him for much longer, lest she starts crying. The incessant pounding in her head is making it really hard to think and the last thing she wants to do is fight with her father in some dingy cell where some assholes were keeping them captive for who knows what.

Madara’s mouth twists. 

“Achiko, it is only a little below what we are used to.” he informs her quietly. The temperature is nowhere near cold enough for your body to react like that, is what he is trying to say.

Fuck. The poison. She can tell Madara has come to the same conclusion, when his fist clenches, knuckles becoming white.

She puts on the shirt without complaint and tries to not feel miserable. 

“Have you already searched the cell?” she asks, trying to mask the somber mood. She already knows he did. Her father is thorough like that, a perfect example of what a shinobi should be… well tactically speaking.

“Yeah. No cracks. Security seals on everything.” he mumbles 

“Are they Uzushio grade?” she asks, her tongue slipping on the words, slurring them together. She hopes Madara didn’t notice. 

He definitely did, going off the worried glance he gives her. 

“No. But they are strong enough that I can’t break them, even with what little chakra I have left.” he says. “Goddamn copycats. I should just leave these fools to Mito.”

There’s another long silence in which Madara is probably thinking about strategies and Achiko is trying breathing exercises, forcing her body to stay calm. 

It only half works, because she starts to feel drowsy, eyelids becoming heavy. She doesn’t know if it is the poison's influence or just her body’s natural response to dealing with her exhaustion and injuries. 

A harmless nap could turn into something she would never wake up from. Sleep was out of the question. 

Achiko looks over to Madara who is now sitting in the middle of the cell in an obvious meditating posture. 

She rolls her eyes. Of course Madara would be able to meditate–which required one to be at peace with himself and his surroundings–in an enemy cell. Achiko studied him, not having seen him in a week or two due to the war. His hair was just as unruly as ever, and body just as fit. His skin seemed no more scarred than she remembered. She frowned, remembering the amount of controversy around them. 

Scars were something to be proud of in her opinion. She knew many people hid their scars because they felt that they were unsightly to look at or made them weak. They were ashamed. Father had taught her that scars were badges of bravery, and each one told a story or situation that it’s bearer overcame. They made you strong, proved your hardships and experiences. Her father had many and she had a fair amount herself. 

Did that make them weak?

Did having scars make Uchiha Madara, dubbed the Ghost of the Uchiha, The God of Shinobi’s battle partner, first person to unlock the Eternal Mangekyou Sharingan weak?

No, it didn’t. 

She shut her eyes as a sudden pang of nausea rang in her skull. 

The bone-deep exhaustion is coming in harder the longer she stays still and it does not help that the cell is cold, and Madara’s shirt is warm. She’s not shivering uncontrollably anymore, serving to make her sleepier. She needs to move but it would be difficult to get up, and her legs could not carry her weight last time so they would not now either. It's not even worth trying to see if movement is possible. 

As an effort to keep herself awake, Achiko starts counting the number of stone bricks making up the adjacent wall. It was boring but she keeps an eye outside the cell as well. 

It happens so quickly, she barely even realizes she fell asleep. The intervals between each blink getting longer and longer until her eyes close and breaths even out.

///

She wakes up to Madara shaking her, his face drawn with fear. The sudden movement does nothing to help her headache, and for a second she gets a telling feeling in the back of her throat. 

“Madara,” she manages to get out, holding back vomit. “Stop. Shaking.” 

His hands withdraw from her shoulders, and he quietly says “You weren’t responding when I called.”

Trembling fingers grasp her wrist, either to console her or check her pulse, she doesn’t know. It is a small form of comfort for both. 

“You need to stay awake.” he says tightly. 

Her father slots himself next to her, still holding onto her arm. Madara usually isn’t one for physical touch. She is told he used to be back when Uncle was alive. Apparently, he also smiled more and generally had an air of happiness about him.

The Madara she knew was a completely different person. Of course he still smiles and laughs, but those have become rarer and rarer as the war drags on. He is a shell of what he used to be, a melancholy remnant of his old spirit.

She can see it in the crow’s feet at his eyes, the tightness around his mouth, or maybe that’s just worry and stress. 

A tickling feeling is at the back of her throat, and she turns her head away, covering her mouth only for a cough to bubble up.

After the coughing bout ends, she pulls her hand away to find it is sticky with something slick. Something else drips down her chin, and her heart drops. 

Coughing up blood most likely means whatever they injected her with was slowly shutting her body down, eventually stopping her heart. It is a sign she doesn’t have much time left. 

“We need to get out of here right now. We can’t wait for them.” Madara looks even more scared than she is. Who is he referring to? The rescue squad or perhaps their captors?

“I can’t walk… much less run.” she breathes, trying to stay calm. She’s never really seen him this frightened before, and she thinks that she should remember this, her sharingan flickering on. 

“Stop using your sharingan. Save your energy.” her father snaps, and gets up to stand in front of the bars. 

“You won’t be able to break them.” 

“I know.” Madara says grimly. “I’m overloading them with nature chakra.” 

Her brain manages to make the connection between his meditating and acquiring of nature chakra. She feels shame wash over her. Why did she assume Madara was wasting time when in reality he was focusing on their escape, doing far more than she could ever hope of doing in a situation like this. 

Achiko watches her father grip the bars and even with her sharingan off, she can see the pure chakra flow through his body and arms, directly into the iron . She shields her eyes as the sealed bars start to glow red hot, and is immediately glad she did because the bars snap apart with a bang and a flare of heat. 

Pieces and shards of iron rain around her

Her ears are ringing a little, so it takes her a second to hear Madara heaving great big breaths, like his lungs can’t get enough air. He stumbles over to her, kneeling in front, his back towards her.

She gets on, attempting to wrap her legs around his torso, but her lower half is sluggish and weak. It feels like a cruel mockery of how she used to hang off her father like a bear when she was young. Her arms are thankfully cooperating, so they cross over his collarbone. 

He hikes up her knees, and takes off at a brisk, chakra-unassisted run, most likely saving what little he has left for the inevitable fights that are to come. She can feel the muted thumps of his speeding heart against her chest, his heavy inhales and exhales, and the blood dripping down from her mouth and nose. She goes to bury her face in his thick hair, and then just as quickly twists her head away as wet coughs wrack her body. More blood comes up and she can just about feel herself choking on it, thick and heavy in her throat. 

Madara runs faster, as if spurred on by her fit, and the wind whips at her face which combined with the continuous jolts from his feet hitting the ground serve to make her feel even more sick and disoriented. 

Achiko knows she should have more faith in her father and maybe even in herself, but the situation is not looking so good right now. It is almost a guarantee that they will run into the enemy. Under normal conditions, Madara and Achiko wouldn’t even be in this situation, but she got overwhelmed by several jounin and her father was coming back from a mission-gone-bad at full speed, likely running on fumes. Under normal conditions, they would probably make it out in minutes. But she is suffering from an unknown poison, one that is fast acting, and can barely stand on her own and Madara will have to protect her while his body recovers from breaking the cell bars and repressed chakra, on top of being exhausted. 

In a fight, she would be useless, a liability for her already weakened father has to cover for. It would be so easy to kill her. It is very unlikely they will both leave alive. 

She considers the morbid thought of committing suicide so that Madara is not burdened with her, but decides against it. Madara would bring her back just to kill her himself. It sounds extreme, but is entirely plausible if he uses that top-secret reanimation jutsu that Tobirama has been working on. Then there’s the issue of what her idiot father would do without her. No, suicide is not an option.

Achiko can only pray that they won’t run into anyone and hope that they will make it out in one piece.

////

Her prayers go unanswered as Madara skids around a corner and just barely dodges a flying kunai. It manages to pass through his long hair, slicing through a section and some black strands flutter down.

Her father drops into a defensive stance, a hand coming out from under her knee to hover at his side. She knows that if she weren’t here, he would’ve already blitz attacked them.

Achiko wipes the blood away from her face, and looks up as well, her vision somewhat blurry. 

A man, flanked by a squad of shinobi, stands at the end of the hallway, His hita-ae identifies him as a shinobi of Iwagakure, which coincidentally is the nation Konoha was at war with. Go figure.

The Iwa shinobi, who is standing at the front, appears to be the leader. He doesn’t look particularly threatening, he is neither big and muscled nor scarred and worn. He is just a man, unassuming and dressed in a regular uniform. Nothing to identify him as special ops or anything other than a regular shinobi, other than the long katana strapped to his back. Most likely a kenjutsu specialist then.

“Madara and Achiko.” He says, rolling the names out, like he’s getting a feel for them. 

Madara tenses and Achiko tries to focus on breathing.

“Move out of my way, otherwise I will make you move.” Madara warns, his grip on her knee tightening. 

Achiko’s vision is not clear enough to tell how many nin are standing behind him, but she knows it’s too many. Her being out of commission lowers the chances of winning from slim to none.

Her body chooses this moment to send her into a coughing fit. When she is done, her breaths rattle and blood slides down Madara’s shoulder. Madara doesn’t move, he is still and glowers at the opposition. 

The man’s gaze lands on her.

“Looks like your daughter is in need of medical assistance,” he continues, completely ignoring her father and staring at Achiko instead.. “ We can help her, if you give us something in return.”

“You are the ones who made her like this!” Madara snarls, stepping forward. “Get. Out. Of my way.” 

The man’s attention snaps to her father.

“Or what?” he scoffs.

“Or I’ll kill all of you fools, what else?” Madara snaps, patience obviously running thin.

“Forgive me, but I don’t think you’re in any condition to fight, much less win against us Madara-sama.” he mocks, teeth glinting in the low light. 

“You will choke on those words.” Madara promises. His free hand reaches up to touch Achiko’s forearms, both a command and an apology. 

She slides off his back, and almost topples over, and only just manages to catch herself. Standing is so hard, and all she wants to do is hide on her father’s back and fall asleep.

Her normal self would be mortified at those thoughts.

Her father straightens up to his full height, and crosses his arms. She almost misses the enemy shinobi uneasily glancing at each other. Her father’s power is well-known throughout the lands and he is an intimidating figure, even without armor. A bit of pride bleeds into her nausea.

The man is watching all of this unfold and starts to laugh. It’s sudden, and she tenses expecting an attack, but instead he just shakes his head. 

“I can’t believe I’m saying this, but we can do this the hard way or the easy way.” he drawls, shoving his hands in his pockets. “Come with us and give us information and we will heal your daughter.” 

Madara seems to seriously be considering this offer, and Achiko is about to open her mouth to dissuade him, hoping she won’t choke on blood, when she sees a glint of something in the man’s hands. 

A needle, she realizes. 

Her body moves and a hand reaches back behind her, where the kunai from before is embedded. Flaring her sharingan, she pinpoints the correct trajectory and throws. 

The two collide in midair and drop, the needle being thrown with enough force to stop a kunai, albeit a weakly thrown one. It’s actually quite embarrassing, but it’s all the strength she could muster. 

Her father whips his head around to her, his evolved mangekyo burning. She barely manages a small half smile, before he is gone, throwing himself at his enemies. The sounds of screaming men and rushing fire wash over her and she slumps against the wall. 

Achiko fiercely wills herself not to pass out as her eyesight wavers. Fuck, activating her sharigan had absoloutely drained her whatever meager chakra she had. 

She feels a displacement of air in front of her, and instinctively ducks as a short sword is stabbed into the stone above her. 

A shinobi with a nasty scar running diagonally across his face sneers at her. 

“You bitch!” he growls, pulling his sword from the wall and slicing downward. 

She rolls out of the way and staggers to feet, a hand on the wall for support. Legs feeling stronger than before, she decides to try a kick and plants one on the middle of his chest as he is advancing towards her. It was solid enough to almost make him drop his sword, but it wasn’t quite enough. Damnit. 

He advances at her, swiping left and right and it is all Achiko can do to dodge, the difference between her and the blade shortening each time. The only thing keeping her alive right now is his frankly terrible form and predictable body movements. Her luck won’t hold out forever though. She may be the more experienced one, but her body is still weak and it is only a matter of time before he gets a hit in due to her slow reactions.

Gathering up all the remaining energy she has, she drops to her feet and sweeps his feet out from under him. His balance is terrible due to his form - does this man know how to wield a sword properly - and her shaky kick is enough to knock him over. His head bounces off the floor, momentarily stunning him.

Achiko sees her chance and takes it, wrestling the sword - a tanto - out of his grasp with a surprising amount of strength. She twirls it around and plunges it into his chest cavity, yanking it back out with a wet squelch and a spray of blood. 

She goes to get up and collapses backwards, sword almost slipping out of her hand. Adrenaline was the only thing keeping her upright and now that the immediate danger is gone, her body is crashing again. Her limbs feel like lead and even her forgotten-burn hurts now. 

Out of the corner of her eye she sees Madara fighting with a vengeance as he always does, an impressive amount of bodies behind him. With his chakra sealed away, he can only use taijutsu, which he excels at but only because he plays dirty. All is fair in war, though. She watches as he uses a corpse impaled on a stolen sword as a shield against a Suiton Jutsu, and Achiko could almost laugh at his expression. All Suiton Jutsus remind her father of Tobirama and he always makes the same pinched face when dealing with them. 

He impales the Suiton user on the same sword as his comrade, and then drops, spinning around to perform a heel strike on a kunai-wielding foe. He hits him at an angle that pushes the nose into the brain which causes instant death. The body is thrown at a shinobi who is obviously prepping a jutsu. He is met with a dead teammate and a devastating kick that just about knocks his head off. 

Somebody throws shuriken combined with lightning, and Madara leans out of the way slower than usual. A couple nick him on the shoulder. Her father does not stop fighting but she knows that these types of injuries will drain him. He’s obviously tiring, and he cannot hold everyone back, despite his best efforts. He is but one man.

As he turns to avoid a barrage of kunai, she catches sight of his face. 

His eyes are black.

True to her predictions, two slip past him after a planned attack which knocks him off kilter and head straight for her. She stares and then grits her teeth. She refuses to die like this, so she sits up and tightens her hold on the sword.

Raising her left arm, she throws the tanto in an arc, aiming to take two heads off with one swipe. But right when the handle leaves her fingers, she knows she threw it wrong. Not enough power. It won’t be fast enough to take the two by surprise, and the trajectory is all wrong. 

She watches helplessly as one one of them knocks it away.

Madara looks back at the same moment the blade clatters uselessly on the ground which gives someone, the leader, to run his sword through her father’s gut. It goes clean through. Madara wheezes and clocks him hard across the face. He sinks to one knee, a hand on his abdomen. The wound is already dripping blood, pooling around him.

She screams for her father, choking on blood halfway through. 

The last thing she sees is him slump forward, before she loses consciousness.


	2. smoke

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING for torture and other unpleasant things related to that. I don't think it's too graphic but it is pretty bad.

Achiko regains consciousness slowly. The first thing she becomes aware of is the pain. Her body is weak and burning like it is only when she’s sick. It feels like she has a high fever. There’s something wrong with her lungs too. They wheeze with each shallow breath and seem… clogged, for lack of a better word.

When her memories start to flow back, her eyes snap open.

She’s met with the shocking sight of her father chained to the wall across from her. The image is so wrong that she immediately tries to get up, only to find herself shackled down as well. Further observation proves that the tilted surface is some type of table, similar to the ones in the operating ward of Konoha's hospital.

She tries the cuffs on her wrists and ankles but they don’t budge.

Achiko looks to Madara who has an indifferent expression but the unusual paleness of his face gives away his true emotions. Her eyes methodically scan his body, looking for any signs of torture. They come to rest upon a hastily stitched up section of his abdomen which she recognizes as the stab wound from earlier. The jagged skin is red and inflamed but the stitches are even enough so that her father is not bleeding out anymore, which is something she is grateful for.

The injury would have been fatal if he hadn’t received medical attention.

Feeling faint at the mere thought of waking up to a dead father, Achiko finishes looking over Madara. There are many bruises and shallow cuts littering his body but none seem to be torture-inflicted. One particularly deep slice in his shoulder worries her, but it is nothing compared to the sewn up hole in his gut. All of the injuries are probably from the fight in the hallway. The same fight where she had only taken out one measly shinobi and then, after failing to take out another two which led to Madara being injured, proceeding to faint like some damsel in distress. She winces at the thought, but before she can begin to berate herself, Madara speaks up.

“Oi,” he says, and he could almost pass for bored if his body wasn’t so tense. “Can you feel your chakra?”

Achiko tilts her head, considering. She attempts to reach deep into herself, tries to access her chakra. But where there had been a huge storm of roiling chakra, there was a wall. No matter how hard she tried to break it or go around, it did not waver, did not crumble. It effectively cut off her chakra from being used in any way, reducing her capabilities to a mere civilian.

Her eyes meet Madara’s and she shakes her head tiredly, nausea flaring up at the motion. He didn’t really react outwardly, but his presence seemed to deflate.

There was no doubt that his chakra was sealed away as well.

Chakra repression seals allowed the wearer to still be able to mould chakra, as it only siphoned and slowed the flow. It was very difficult, but skilled shinobi could get around it and use a little chakra at the risk of exhausting themselves.

The reason repression seals were structured like this was to keep the wearers chakra coils somewhat healthy or at the least, alive. Sealing away all chakra ran the coils dry and being in such a situation for a prolonged amount of time ran the very high risk of burnt out coils, which rendered a shinobi incapable of moulding chakra forever or -in most cases- dead. Although for some there was no difference. Being able to use chakra defined a shinobi's whole career and without it, and well… Many people preferred to be dead rather than useless.

With dry coils, using nature chakra wouldn’t work. Madara could accumulate some but would not be able to transform it into something useful.

There goes any chance at breaking out.

“Well…” Achiko sighed.“Hashirama and Tobirama should be here soon, at least.”

Or so she hoped.

Madara’s eyebrow twitches at the mention of Tobirama, but he remains quiet.

She’s about to start looking around their cell when Madara opens his mouth, then hesitates.

“Achiko,” he starts, looking wildly uncomfortable. “We need to… acknowledge the possibility of torture.”

Achiko marvels at how nonchalant he sounds, even if there is an undercurrent of fear underneath his words. She swallows down her own fear.

“I don’t know which one of us they will target, but that man mentioned information.” he continues, looking grim. “It might be about the sharingan or Konoha, but either way we cannot let them have it.”

Achiko nods, a sharp jerk of the chin. It makes sense of course. That information, if in the wrong hands, could lead to many unnecessary deaths. Two lives to save countless more was barely a choice at all.

She refuses to think about dying.

Although she would. For Konoha. For the Uchiha.

(‘Would you live for your father?’ A voice asks, whispering deviously in her ear. She hesitates for longer than she would like to admit.)

“Understood.” she says, trying to sound brave and in control, two things that she does not feel at all.

Tobirama had given her training on how to resist torture, but training is different than actually going through it. What if they hurt Madara? He never trained her on how to withstand loved ones being hurt right in front of her . She doesn’t know if she can watch Madara go through that.

Madara must have heard something in her voice because he turns away, and she can see his jaw clench.

Fuck. This whole situation is terrible and shitty and she would rather deal with the Uchiha elders for entire weeks than be here. She doesn’t even know if Tobirama and Hashirama are coming for sure.

However, it won’t help anyone if she gets caught up in her fear and misery.

So Achiko searches the room with her eyes for any weaknesses, anything that could help. She cannot use her sharingan but her eyes still pick up the small seals etched into the stone walls at each corner. Their purpose is unknown, most likely to reinforce the cell. They were definitely the work of some arrogant sealer who thought of themselves as a seals-master, if the strong brushstrokes and clumsy execution are anything to go by .

Mito-san would take offense if she ever saw any of these.

She tries her restraints again, which are solid metal. Nothing short of a chakra assisted yank would break them.

Frustrated, she thumps the back of her head against the slab of metal she’s restrained to. It sends a shock of pain down her spine, but she’s already focused trying to move her legs. They barely twitch and her mood dampens further.

It would’ve been too much to hope for their captors to give her the antidote to the poison. A trickle of fear runs through her body. She doesn’t have long until the poison runs its course. Even now, she can feel her arms become more numb and unresponsive. It leaves her feeling lethargic, like she has just woken up from a nap in the sun.

Her emotions vacillate between fear and anger.

Why hasn’t anyone come to see them? Is this some sort of psychological trick?

She vows to make their deaths as painful as possible, especially the leader.

One glance at Madara’s face and she can tell he’s thinking the same thing. Her lips quirk up. Good.

Her face falls as an unbidden thought crosses her mind.

Should she say something to him? In case it all goes to hell and she really does end up dying.

All active shinobi in Konoha are required to have a will, and she does have letters written out to everyone important to her (the papers are wrinkled with long since dried tears.) But she doesn’t want her father to be unsure about her love for him, doesn’t want her last words to him to be read off a paper.. She wants him to know how much she looks up to him, how much she cherishes his words and opinions, even through their fights and arguments.

Before she can say anything, the iron door in the corner clanks and her eyes latch onto it. Madara’s chains rattle as he does the same, head twisting to see the door open.

A blonde man, who she recognizes as the leader, steps in. He saunters into the middle of the room, letting the door swing shut behind him.

He just stands there, doing nothing and Achiko is so done with all of this mentally psyching out bullshit.

“Hey, asshole!” she snaps, seething internally.

His head swivels towards her in a way that is reminiscent of an owl.

He smiles at her, lips curling up into a pleased grin.

“A little uncalled for, don’t you think?” he says conversationally, walking towards her. He flips out a kunai.

“The only thing uncalled for is you still breathing,” she snipes, tensing against the metal cuffs.

The first thing Tobirama had taught her was to make the enemy mad. Angry people make mistakes, mistakes help you survive.

His eyes narrow. He’s close enough to touch her now.

“You know, you remind me of my sister,” he says thoughtfully, stopping right next to her. He peers down at her through blank eyes and grabs a hold of her leg.

Her heart skips a beat.

“I hate my sister,” he says, and then brings the kunai down into her thigh.

Achiko can’t help the almost animalistic grunt that escapes her at the explosion of pain.

She can hear chains rattling and Madara shouting. Breathing through the pain doesn’t work since her lungs won’t take in enough air. Her inhales are too shallow, too fast.

Achiko can feel a cough building at the back of her throat.

“Oops,” the man grins, and she wants to rip his head off with her teeth.

“It slipped,” he explains casually, like he’s excusing his tardiness to somebody. Then he twists and her vision whites out a bit at the edges.

Achiko’s body involuntarily tries to writhe away from the pain. Tears roll down her cheeks and she hacks out a cough, blood spurting out of her mouth.

“Fuck... you,” she breathes out.

He laughs and then backhands her across the face. Her vision splits into two.

The kunai is still lodged in her thigh.

“Language, young one,” he chides, then turns around to face Madara. “Didn’t you teach her any manners? As Clan heir or whatever I would’ve thought-”

“I will strive to make your death as painful as possible,” Madara cuts him off, glaring. His gaze flickers over to Achiko and she blinks at him.

His face is sheet white.

The blonde man only raises an eyebrow.

“I’m sure you will,” he says placidly like he’s talking to a young child.

He turns back around to her and she tenses, waiting for another hit.

It doesn’t come.

“Where are my manners? I haven’t even introduced myself yet!” he huffs, clapping his hands together. “You can call me Hiroshi, of the former Karma clan,”

Madara’s eyes widen and realization dawns on his face, along with something like… wariness?

It doesn’t escape Hiroshi’s notice and he smirks.

“Ah, so you remember? What about you, my dear?” He smooths down Achiko’s hair and she jerks away, glaring at him through blurred vision.

Madara says nothing, staring at her with such an intensity, she wonders if he’s trying to convey some secret message with his eyes.

There’s a shock of something in her thigh and she realizes that Hiroshi yanked out the kunai in her leg. She barely felt it, which is worrying for a lot of reasons. Now that the obstruction is gone, blood freely seeps down her leg. It also means that her body is approaching the threshold of pain it can bear. Normally, a single stab wound would not even phase her, but the poison was sapping away her strength and shutting down her already chakra-depleted body.

“Well, it doesn't matter. We were a small clan, so it makes sense for you to not know of us.” he smiles, poison leaking into his words. He lightly drags the bloodied kunai on her skin and she stiffens. “Let me tell you a story, hm? Maybe it will… educate you.”

“You see, our home was in Kusa. Despite being a neutral clan, we were frequently brought into your war with Iwa. We lost many shinobi to your forces, who mistook us for Iwa nin. My sister…” he falters, looking wistful. “My sister, she was the head of our small clan. She was a brat and I hated her, but she was a good leader and did not want her clan to die because of someone else’s war.”

He pauses and the cell is quiet, save for ragged breathing and a plopping sound. Achiko dimly realizes that it’s her blood dripping onto the floor.

“She sent me to Konoha to broker an alliance with them. Before I left, she seemed… unhinged somehow, muttering about prolonged suffering and the sort.” he stops again, and looks at Madara. “I was turned away at the gates and returned without any success. When I… returned, I found my clan burned to the ground, corpses littering the roads. My wife, my child…” his voice breaks and then he screams at Madara. “My sister sent me away because she knew YOU would be there! She… she protected me!”

Hitoshi lunges at Madara, pinning him on the wall with a forearm at his neck. The blonde man is breathing hard, like he had run the length of Fire Country.

“Tell me! Why did we have to get caught in the crossfire? Tell me, Madara of the Uchiha!” he thunders, chest heaving.

“She allied with Iwa and waged a war in her own compound.There was no crossfire to get caught in.” her father bites out. “My guess is she sent you to Konoha to die at our hands. What a fool.”

Hiroshi seems to be frozen in place, staring at her father.

Quicker than her eyes can follow, the blonde cocks back his fist and punches Madara across the face. She hears something crack.

“You LIAR!”

Her father spits out a glob of blood and turns his neck back to face the obviously enraged man.

“Your sister obviously went mad. Konoha received word of the alliance between your clan and Iwa days before you arrived at the gates.” he barks, looking furious. His nose looks a little crooked. “Why do you think we turned you away?”

Hiroshi shakes his head and backs away from her father.

“Even now, faced with your actions, you choose to lie and save face. You do not feel the least bit guilty, do you Madara?” Hiroshi chuckles, sounding haunted. “No matter.”

Achiko bites off a whimper as several shuriken suddenly embed themselves in the meat of her shoulder. She can feel one grating against her actual bone when she draws in a shaky breath.

Madara is straining against his bindings, snarling at Hiroshi.

Hiroshi just laughs and it really does sound unhinged. Seems like going mad runs in the family.

“Afterwards, I aligned what was left of the clan with Iwa.” his eyes narrow at Madara, who is still yanking on his restraints. “Tell me, how could I do that if we had an alliance with them already? They had never even heard of us before.”

“They are playing you, you FOOL!” Madara bellows, chains clanking.

At this, something changes in Hiroshi’s demeanor.

“SHUT UP!” Hiroshi roars, grabbing her fathers throat between his hands. Her father wheezes as the blonde’s fingers squeeze his windpipe.

Achiko chokes out a small “Stop!” before hacking up a wave of blood. She is bleeding from too many places, too much blood loss. Already feeling faint, she wonders how long she has left until her body gives up.

To her surprise, he actually does stop, pale hands retreating back into his pockets, leaving her father spluttering for air.

“Thank you Achiko-chan.” he says, primly. She shivers at the familiar honorific leaving his mouth. It sounds wrong, too cruel. “I almost forgot that I’m not allowed to kill Madara-sama here. You on the other hand… well Iwa only gave me instructions on how to deal with your father. It would be good if you died, though. Much less deaths for Iwa.” he muses.

He turns to Madara who is stock still, his face blank. Achiko almost winces. His face , devoid of emotion, is almost more telling than if he were to actually display fear. Hiroshi may be insane, but he was definitely not stupid .

“If you kill her, I’ll-,” Madara begins carefully only to be cut off by Hiroshi.

“Oh, spare me the details. I’m not going to kill her.” he says breezily. “Not if you answer my questions. I need information.”

Madara opens his mouth, clearly about to dismiss the notion entirely when Hiroshi speaks up again.

“I think I forgot to mention that the poison running through her veins right now will kill her in a few hours. If you give me what I need, I’ll consider giving her the antidote.” he grins at Madara, all teeth and venom.

Achiko’s heart drops. They can’t give any type of information to these people. It would no doubt lead to countless deaths and… it just wasn’t worth it.

Madara’s face pales considerably, eyes flicking between her sorry form and the puddle of blood that has accumulated beneath her. She knows it looks bad (it feels even worse) but wills him to stay strong.

“What kind of information?” Madara grinds out, glaring at Hiroshi who knowingly smiles. That… that was not good. Achiko wasn’t actually expecting him to give in.

“Konoha military tactics, plans and a detailed roster, as well as any useful information regarding Tobirama and his genin team.” Hiroshi says like he’s reciting something he memorized.

“And if I don’t know?” Madara mutters, which prompts Hiroshi to burst into laughter.

“Of course you do Madara!” He swats her father on the back like he didn’t try to choke the life out of him a couple minutes ago.

The interaction bears an eerie resemblance to how Hashirama would talk to Madara, and it brings a bitter taste to her mouth to even admit that. This man may have Hashirama’s mannerisms but he will never be him; Hashirama and his blindingly good personality, the innate kindness that literally radiates from him. This man was filled to the brim with pain and the desire for revenge, bitter darkness.

Achiko finds herself missing her uncle a little. He would make her laugh through her pain as he always did, ever since she was young, with his sense of humor and dumb antics.

Shaking herself out of her thoughts (wishing won’t do any good right now), she speaks up, voice haggard.

“He’s not going to tell you,” she croaks. Madara was only second in importance to Hashirama and an experienced leader, of course he would be involved in battle strategizing.The ignorant approach would do nothing to help them, it was better to just outright deny the information. Besides, Hiroshi seemed to have a thing against liars.

The blonde man looks to Madara, as if to confirm what she said. When Madara only purses his lips, staying silent, Hiroshi sighs contentedly.

“I was hoping you would say no,” he says, voice filled with glee. He walks over to her and Madara watches, eyes burning with an emotion she can’t identify.

Achiko is so out of it from pain and blood loss right now, she can’t even bring herself to be wary.

“You see, no one else wanted to take this mission because they were all afraid of you. Me? I don’t care if you kill me. I just want to make you feel the same pain that I felt, having my family ripped away from me.”

Achiko’s eyes narrow and she glares with all she has left. “How dare you assume my father hasn’t... already felt that pain? He has gone... through more than you ever will, you...you bast-,” she cuts off when he slaps her, stars explode in her head.

“Izuna right? That’s too bad. My condolences- really!” he says, faux-sympathy dripping from his words. He addresses her father. “I understand how it feels, thanks to you. What really surprised me though, is how you went and played house with his murd-”

“SHUT your MOUTH, vermin!” Madara roars and it’s enough to make the blonde man listen, mouth clamping shut, a startled look on his face. It only lasts for a second, then it’s gone and replaced by mirth.

“Oh, so you actually do care!” he almost purrs. “Sorry, I wasn’t sure with all the dishonor you’ve done to his name.” he leans towards him, like he is sharing a secret, even though Madara is chained to the opposite wall. “They say you’ve been sleeping with Tobirama.”

If the situation wasn’t so dire, she would’ve laughed at the look on her father’s face, how it went from furious to appalled, then back.

“You’ve lost a brother, but I want you to feel the pain of losing a daughter. As I did.” Hiroshi continues. “You don’t have a wife, so watching her die in front of you should be… sufficient. Only then will I acknowledge your pain as equal to mine. However,” his lips curl in distaste “If you answer the questions I asked, I will torture her within an inch of her death, but she will remain alive.”

Madara doesn’t say anything, just focuses on her, like he’s trying to brand the image of her into his brain.

She offers a hesitant smile, and then she sees a blur before a crack resonates in the dim cell and pain flares up from her leg. Her shin burns and through the haze of pain, she realizes that it’s broken clean through. It's manageable, she tells herself, trying to breath evenly through the throbbing .

A calloused hand closes around the soft skin of her throat and she chokes on air as it tightens and a voice coos. “Let’s wipe that smile off that pretty face, shall we?”

He releases her and something digs into the open wound in her thigh, and it hurts so much. She writhes with pain and it steals her breath away, she can’t breathe she can’t breatheshe can’tshecan’tbreathe she can’t-

A sizzling sound fills the air and the shoulder that is not embedded with shuriken burns. Madara _roars_ in the background, like she has never heard before. It’s deafening, filling up the whole cell with an intense spike of killing intent and she wishes he would stop.

“This is your fault Madara,” Hiroshi says unapologetically, holding a… red hot iron poker in his hands. No, that isn't a poker… The end is rounded and flattened, bearing some sort of insignia, which looks somewhat like a clan symbol. Did he just… brand her?

She almost giggles in delirium, shock washing over her. It would explain why Madara is so upset and the smell of burnt flesh currently permeating the air.

“Tell me what I need to know. Or don’t. It doesn’t particularly matter to me,” Hiroshi says, clearly savoring the distress Madara is in. He idly twirls the brand in his hand.

Her father looks livid.

“When I’m done with you, you will be BEGGING for DEATH! Do you hear me?” he bellows, his deep voice breaking.

Hiroshi just smirks and reaches towards her hand. She has enough sense to clench her hand, balling it into a fist as tight as she can, which is admittedly not that tight. Her muscles feel dead and her bones ache something fierce.

She doesn’t want this. She doesn’t want to do this but she won’t beg for mercy. Not now. Not ever.

Her eyes close as her fingers are forced open and a kunai is stabbed through her palm. It blends in with the other pain she is in, so she doesn’t scream too much. Blood escapes her lips, a steady stream flowing down her chin. Her eyelids feel heavy and her head lolls forward, tangled hair falling forward to shadow her vision.

She can distantly hear her father switching between threats to Hiroshi and fervently pleading with her to stay awake. His voice is comforting.

As Hiroshi breaks her first finger, her consciousness slips away.

///

Achiko wakes up to Hiroshi shouting at her father, who is screaming right back. He is still chained, although his wrists and ankles are bloodied, no doubt from pulling at the cuffs too much. He looks the same as before, which gives her pause. Isn’t she supposed to be dead?

Then she feels the pain which confirms that yes, she is alive, and then the shaking. Booms resonate around her, like multiple explosion tags are being set off. Hopefully they are.

Her body catches up to her brain and she glances down, trying to catalogue her injuries. She gives up, there are too many, and it’s not that she would be of much use fighting anyways. There is a disturbing amount of blood beneath her, she notes.

Voices filter in, distinguishing themselves from the faint screaming and rumbling in the background.

“-tell me! Otherwise-”

“If you kill my daughter, I will have no reason to tell you anything!” Madara snarls, looking panicked.

“I plan to kill her anyways! Scum like you-”

“If you- I swear I will make you live the rest of your life in agony! I will bring back your family a hundred thousand times only to kill them in front of you!” Madara roars.

Her vision clears just enough that she can make out something shiny on Madara’s face. It takes her a moment to place them as dried tear tracks. Her eyes widen.

“Shut up about that Sharingan bullshit!” a red-faced Hiroshi shouts.

The thundering sound of footsteps draws closer and something changes in Hiroshi’s face. Madara must realize it too because his eyes widen, and he tries to throw himself at the blonde man.

He snaps around and lunges towards her, flipping out a kunai.

Madara jerks against his chains, screaming at him to stop, just as the door blows open.

Achiko flinches back, as a blur of blue wrenches the kunai upwards, knocking it off it’s trajectory to her heart.

At the same time, the vision in her right eye goes out, accompanied with a shock of red-hot pain. A shriek is wrangled from her torn up throat.

“Shit.” Tobirama curses, slitting Hiroshi’s throat, who has a startled expression on his face. Tobirama drops the corpse as Hashirama runs in, covered in blood. He stops at seeing both Achiko and Madara shackled and bleeding. His eyes take in both of their tear-streaked faces and his face darkens, his eyes narrowing as he stalks towards Madara.

Achiko blinks and Tobirama is in front of her removing her cuffs, then catching her as she pitches off the table. The movement jars her wounds and she suppresses a groan.

He lays her down on the warm ground (isn’t stone supposed to be cold) and holds his hands, glowing soft green, over her stomach. She can feel his chakra seep into her, her dry coils sucking it up eagerly. His sharp features twist into a frown as calls over his shoulder.

There’s the rustle of chains clanking in the background, then stumbling footsteps as Madara kneels next to her. He looks at her, desperation and fear etched into his face. His trembling hands rise to cup her own.

Achiko musters all the strength she has left to lift her unbroken hand, going to touch her father’s face to comfort him. However, seeing out of one eye is something she is unused to, her depth perception being thrown off. She misses by a good margin, fingers swiping his chin instead of his cheek.

Madara’s eyes are filled with concern as he grasps her hand in his own, flattening it against his cheek. It feels sticky with salt and sweat underneath her palm.

It grounds her, a solid thing to focus on.

His mouth moves, but it’s like Achiko is on the other side of a waterfall. She can’t hear him at all and Madara seems to notice , his fingers tightening on hers. He fiercely says something to Tobirama across her body, and the white-haired man nods, red eyes resolutely staring down at her torso.

Is she dying?

A familiar face comes in view behind Tobirama, her red hair almost painful to look at. Achiko wearily tracks her with one eye as Mito crouches down and pushes up the blood-soaked shirt to her ribs, face hardened. Mito places a hand on her navel, mouth moving. Madara glances at her and lets go of her hand, gently setting it down.

She wants to ask why, wants him to come back, but he’s already moving away from her prone body.

As soon as he looks away, vines come up to secure her wrists and ankles down and her heart stutters. When a thick one goes around her torso, she moves, twisting her body from side to side, even though it hurts to do so. She’s fairly certain tears are leaking out of her good eye and _why are they restraining her still_?

A pulse of hot chakra erupts from her stomach, burning fire down her nerves, and her brain shuts-off at the sensation. It feels like she’s being burned alive, being doused in fire and it’s agony, not being able to do anything.

Achiko has been through so much already and she doesn’t know if she can survive this. 

She dimly realizes that she’s wailing, screams being dragged out of her throat.

She pleads for them to stop, whoever is doing this, gasping out apologies and platitudes. When that doesn’t work, she starts calling for Madara, begging for her father to help her, please, it hurts, _please_.

Achiko searches for her father through blurred vision and sees him snarling like a wild dog. He is held back by Hashirama’s mokuton, roots wrapping around his torso, arms pinned at his sides.

Then, at a particularly sharp burst of agony, her body decides it’s had enough and her vision tunnels and goes dark for the third time. The last thing she sees is her father calling at her with tears running down his cheeks.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> wow, that chapter was dark asf yikes, dw next one will be nicer, hugs and kisses for everybody!!! as always, leave a kudos or comment, i really like reading them! this will most likely be an ongoing story bc i have so much shit planned tf outttttttt. shoutout to my best friend for helping me like she is literally amazing. anways this chapter is kind of rushed i know its because i wanna get to the plot!

**Author's Note:**

> hiiiiiiii!!! okay so I had an idea for a series, like i got a plot planned out in my head kinda and this would be the first chapter if I actually write it. please leave a kudos (or even better, a comment) letting me know if you would like me to continue. all constructive constructive is welcome aswell! this is my first Naruto fic sooooo... lmk how did. anyways hope you guys are all staying safe. deuces!!


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